


Who Are You?

by Novileigh



Series: Growing [2]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: But Mostly Not That, Fluff and Angst, M/M, some sexual content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-05-17 07:23:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14827941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novileigh/pseuds/Novileigh
Summary: The evolving relationship from two soft boys who have seen some shit into two soft men just trying to hold it together.





	1. One

One day in Washington, and Stan is already realizing that he’d taken their relationship in Derry for granted.

Their RA is walking he and Bill to their room, though Stan is almost certain that she doesn’t know he’s even tagging along, too busy clinging to Bill’s arm and giggling at every word Bill says to acknowledge him. Bill is being polite, if nothing more, but Stan can’t stop the jealousy gnawing at his stomach. He’s not sure that Bill even notices the flirt - in Derry, no matter how well you’d grown up, everyone in town still looked at you the same way they had when you were ten. Bill’s broad shoulders and classical good looks had meant nothing there - he was still just the King of the Losers, the scrawny kid in the giant clothes with the giant bike. Stutter Boy. He’d never been spared so much as a glance from anyone besides Stan or Beverly there, never had anyone be so blatant about their attraction to him before. 

Stan knows he could stop her. He could tell her that they were together, maybe. He could hold Bill’s hand and not have to say anything at all, the way they had since they were fourteen, the way Bill never denied him in Derry. _But this isn’t Derry. This is a microcosm of beautiful women all waiting to meet a man like Bill. She’s only the first_. He shoves his hands into his pockets instead, letting himself fall a few feet behind. Pretends not to see the girl slip Bill her number.

*

Their room has two twin beds in it. Now that they’re in front of him, Stan realizes that he should’ve always known that it would. 

“Um.” Bill offers unhelpfully, ears pink. They hadn’t thought to discuss what they’d do with their two separate beds once they’d gotten here, and Stan curses the oversight. Barely here, and already something he hadn’t planned for. Out of his control.

“Yeah.” Stan’s reply is equally pointless, but he isn’t really sure what to say. Stan had only really been openly homosexual to a handful of people in Derry, but he and Bill were practically out of the closet before they’d even begun dating. Everyone had already seen them holding hands, standing a little bit too close to one another as they talked. By the time they’d actually started seeing one another, there was no real secret left to hide. But here… No one knew who they were, here. Moving the beds feels like an announcement, some big grand declaration that he and Bill are together. The kind of statement they’d never had to make in Derry. 

The kind of statement that would add humiliation onto the hurt when Bill took one of those pretty girls up on their offer and the two of them had to push themselves back into their respective corners again.

“Do y-you…?” Stan knows the question that Bill is trying to ask, but he isn’t ready to answer.

“I’m tired and this is the first time in days we’ve had anywhere to sleep besides your car. Can we just lay down for a while?” There’s a tinge of disappointment in Bill’s eyes, but Bill still lets him get away with changing the subject, both of them quietly getting into one of the beds. 

It isn’t any difficulty for them to share a twin bed - Bill’s bed in Derry had been a twin, and Stan had found that he honestly likes being tangled up with Bill as they slept, most of his body atop Bill’s sturdy frame. But this _isn’t_ their bed back in Derry. The mattress is long enough that Bill’s feet don’t hang off of the edge the way they did in his childhood bed, and the sheets smell of whatever generic laundry soap the University uses on its bedding. The entire room has the aura of empty sterilization, and Stan barely resists the urge to grasp the sides of Bill’s oversized flannel and button it around his skull. _Wrong_...

“Stan?” Stan nuzzles his face into Bill’s chest and breathes, soothed by the herbal smell of his cologne and deodorant. 

“It’s not ours yet.” Stan hates even saying this, sure he sounds like little more than a petulant child. “Everything in here is wrong except for you.” Bill kisses the top of Stan’s head, voice comforting but firm.

“Then y-you and me are the only thuh-things here. Just us. We cuh-can fix everything else in the m-morning.” Stan takes another deep breath against Bill’s skin, focusing solely on him now. The tension in his shoulders starts to relax.

“We can talk about the beds in the morning too.” Stan isn’t so sure he’ll be ready then, either, but he knows he can’t put this off forever. They’ll decide tomorrow.

* 

They don’t talk about the beds in the morning, and Stan isn’t sure whether or not that’s deliberate. They do both have classes to register for, but it should’ve been so easy for Stan to slip in a yes before Bill had left. Should’ve been, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

He’s not sure if leaving their room is better than having that conversation. At least in the dorm, he and Bill were together. Out here, they’re different people headed in opposite directions among a sea of bodies. There are dozens of voices shouting past him, blending unharmoniously into noise in a way that naturally sets his nerves on edge. He’s almost certain that there are more people on this campus than there were in the entire town of Derry, and even then the whole town didn’t congregate in one space like this. Not for the first time, he wishes the other Losers were here. Wishes Bill were here. 

He’s sure that Bill IS here, somewhere among that crowd, but Bill is different from him. Bill is probably enjoying the attention, reveling in the feeling of making new friends. He’s probably already surrounded by pretty coeds and fraternity presidents, all vying for a bit of his time. Bill belongs with people like that, has always been meant for more than the little town of Derry had to offer him. Stanley’s hands dig deep into his pockets, shoulders bowing in on themselves. Trying to make himself small. 

He knows he might be romanticising Derry in his mind now that they’re gone, but part of him had always relished in being from a small town, Pennywise notwithstanding. He’d known what to expect from everyone he’d ever met, had known what the rules were for him even as he despised them. There were never this many bodies, this many voices. He’d gotten to make close friends, REAL friends, with the kinds of people he was almost certain he’d never meet in a place like this. Bill’s tiny room had become _home_ to Stan in a comfortable way that his parents’ house never had, and he wishes that he’d gotten to really savor his last few days there before having to leave that feeling behind. Even with the occasional bullying, he was happy.

Bill had always been meant for something much bigger than Derry. He’d practically broadcasted it when he was young, with his stupidly oversized clothes and his adult-sized bike, as though his mind were two steps ahead and constantly waiting for his body to catch up. Even the stutter gave him away in that, words flowing from him faster than his tongue could handle, infinitely brilliant but unable to articulate it aloud. Bill is bold and unafraid, and his future is limitless. He’s destined for more than a tiny town with a tiny room and a tiny twin mattress. More than a mousy basket case who’s starting to realize that he doesn’t want that much space between them. 

*

It’s been three days. Bill has clearly been trying to give Stan time to think about the issue, but he can tell that the question is wearing on Bill’s mind. He’s expecting to be asked.

“Huh-help me understand. We already s-sleep together, and you know I wuh-won’t pressure you for more. Why d-don’t you want this?” It’s the earnestness of the question that really gets Stan - Bill is always earnest with him, always trying to understand instead of just casting blame and anger. He’d feel guilty not telling Bill anything when Bill is being so patient, and he has to admit that part of him craves the easy acceptance that Bill provides every time he shares more of himself with the other boy. 

“Why do you?” Bill’s brow furrows, and Stan clarifies quickly. “We already sleep together. I know it’s a tight fit, but… I kind of like that. Everything else is here is too big and new and alone. Coming back here and squeezing into bed like we did at home is the only thing that still feels comfortable now.” Stan looks down, a rush of insecurity hitting him. “Unless that’s the part you don’t like. If you want more space, we can…” He’s cut off by Bill’s lips against his. The kiss isn’t much more than a lingering peck, but Bill’s eyes don’t leave Stan’s for a moment. Stan has always felt awkward about too-close prolonged eye contact like this, but it’s one of Bill’s favorite moves when they’re being serious, so he forces himself not to look away, not to close off his emotions. The moment is broken when Bill tilts his head down to kiss the tip of Stan’s nose, making it scrunch.

“You sh-should’ve told me.” It doesn’t sound like an admonishment when Bill says it, and Stan leans up to indulge in another soft kiss. “I didn’t know it wuh-was important to you. My huh-whole thought was j-just… there’s two.” Bill shrugs sheepishly, grin adorable and charmingly shy. Stan kisses Bill again, gratified when the larger boy’s arms fit tightly around his waist. 

“There are two. And if you really want-” He’s cut off again, this time by a longer kiss. Any other interruption would drive Stan nuts, but he can’t be annoyed when Bill is kissing him. 

“I ruh-really want you to be happy. B-besides, having two wuh-would just give you room to roll away fr-from me when I stuh-start annoying you with affection. Nobody wants that.” Stan snorts derisively.

“Hold on, I’m already reconsidering.” Bill tickles Stan’s hips, and Stan squirms against him. “You should be nice to me. I was only thinking of you and how uncomfortable it would be for you to sleep on the seam between the beds every night.” Bill winces.

“Wow. I don’t thuh-think things through at all.” Stan hums in agreement, nuzzling his cheek into the side of Bill’s neck. He hadn’t realized how badly he’d needed this easy affection, cursing himself for not just saying this days ago and sparing them the awkward interim.

“You’re right, you don’t. Luckily you have me to make all of your major life choices for you.” Bill chuckles against Stan’s skin, lips brushing against Stan’s temple. He’s clearly certain that the conversation is over. Stan isn’t so sure. He’d gotten his way, but something about it still feels wrong. He thinks carefully over their miniature drama about the beds and finds it. Without the beds together, they’re still hiding. Still making a show for anyone that should happen to come by, implying that they’re just friends but never outright saying so. He’s holding Bill at arm’s length until this falls apart, expecting it to though he knows that isn’t fair. Bill isn’t holding back from him. He needs to at least try.

“We could use the other bed for storage space, if you want. A place to put our books and your art supplies so there’s room on the desk to keep your typewriter, when you finally get one.” Stan’s OCD isn’t thrilled at the suggestion of keeping his books on a lumpy uneven surface meant for sleeping, but he’s already thinking of ways to make that work. His insecurities aren’t thrilled at the idea of their objectively gorgeous RA seeing an obviously unused bed the next time she comes by to flirt with Bill and judging whether or not he’s good enough to be Bill’s partner. But he’s more than happy with the elated look on Bill’s face as the boy starts chatting about finally unpacking his art supplies now that they’ve gotten their space figured out. He can’t wait for them to brighten up the room, the slight artsy mess mixed with the smell of paints and graphite in the air, even the coffee mug of paint water. It’ll make the place really feel like home in a way that Bill’s spaces always had, a way that Stan could never manage to recreate without Bill there. For the first time since they’d arrived, Stan thinks this could all work out.


	2. Two

Bill has no idea what they’re doing.

It’s something he hates to admit - He’s always been the certain one, the one with the plans. The one who knows exactly what rules their relationship has, when he should be patient and when Stanley needs him to push for more. 

Those plans and certainties were all Derry-related, though. He and Stan had become dependent on touch long before either of them had considered how it would look to anyone else, needing the physical contact to keep them grounded, to reassure the other that they were okay. They’d started holding hands before Bill had even looked at Stanley in a romantic way, and even before they’d first kissed few people would bat an eyelash at seeing Stan curled up in his lap, or him snuggled up against Stanley’s back. They’d get bullied for it, sure. But neither of them had ever felt the need to stop because of it. The question didn’t even have to be asked, then. 

Bill honestly wasn’t expecting there to be any uncertainty here, either. He and Stan had been together for nearly a year, and in all of that time Stan had never once shied away from initiating affection, his hand reaching out for Bill’s the second they’re close enough to comfortably link fingers. It takes Bill a few weeks to realize it isn’t going to be like that here.

Stan is still affectionate in their dorm - maybe even more so than he’d been in Derry, clinging onto the familiarity of their relationship as everything outside of their room became more stressful and loud. They almost never see one another outside of the room, though. Their courseload differs too much to overlap, and he’s found that Stanley hates being in the busy quad possibly more than he’d hated the Neibolt house, only passing through there when he really had no other choice. Bill has asked him to come more than once, wanted to introduce him to a few of the new people he’d met so far, but he understands that Stanley isn’t ready to do that, not with the Losers still on his mind. He still keeps an eye out for his boyfriend anyway, just in case he does show up one day, wanting to make sure he’s there to support Stan before Stanley can change his mind and leave again. 

Stan had finally made it after two weeks, though Bill’s excitement about that is short lived. Stan isn’t alone, an understated but pretty young woman walking next to him, talking animatedly. Stan is smiling, that amused comfortable smile that Bill secretly hates seeing anyone besides himself get, the one he’d thought he’d finished having to share since they’d lost Richie. He’s headed over to them before he even realizes it, trying not to let himself get jealous of the only person besides himself that Stan would even bother talking to here. He can’t let this become another Richie situation. He arrives at the pair just in time to hear the end of a story.

“And that’s why to this day, I’m still traumatized by the smell of gefilte fish.” Stan chuckles gently at the supposed punchline, and Bill awkwardly does the same though he isn’t sure why. His hand automatically drops down into the space near Stan’s thigh, a reflex at this point, expecting Stan to curl his fingers with Bill’s the way he always had. The backs of his knuckles brush against the fabric of Stanley’s chinos instead, the other boy’s hands shoved deep in the pockets. It isn’t quite a rejection, but it stings like one nonetheless. Stan looks fairly uncomfortable for a second - not as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have, but as though he isn’t quite certain how to handle these two separate parts of his life coming across one another in an unplanned setting. He recovers quickly though, gives Bill a tender smile.

“Hey.” Bill can’t help but grin back.

“Huh-hey yourself.” There’s a moment, a glorious sweet moment in which Bill is almost certain that Stan has forgotten that his guest is even there, too focused on smiling at Bill. The spell is broken when the petite girl places her hand delicately on Stan’s arm.

“Oh. Um, Bill, this is Patty Blum. We have math together, and she’s also trading Jewish horror stories with me. Patty, this is Bill Denbrough.” Bill waits for the rest of his introduction, waits to see what Stanley will call him. Boyfriend? Friend? Roommate? When it becomes clear that nothing further is coming, Bill just sticks out his hand to shake the girl’s. 

“Nuh-nice to meet you.” It’s anything but nice, but Bill won’t be impolite to someone who’s been nothing but kind to him so far.

“Pleasure’s all mine. So Bill, are you Jewish too?” Bill shakes his head no, and Patty just laughs. “Figures. Not many of us in these parts. But hey, I don’t mind a Gentile giant as long as he’s friendly.” The girl touches his arm the same way she had Stan’s, flashes a blinding smile up at him. He wants to hate her, but he’s not sure it’s even possibly to hate someone this sunny and sweet. “Well, lucky for all of us, I have another story that’s completely non-denominational. It’s about the time my mother scared away my prom date…” 

Patty is still talking, Bill knows, but he can’t focus on what she’s saying. She’s situated herself in the middle between himself and Stan, one of her tiny hands on each of their elbows, leading them on though Bill isn’t sure that either he or Stanley know where they’re going. Stan is clearly listening to her story, but he’s also shooting looks at Bill over her head, a clear _I’m sorry_ and _We’ll talk later_? He wonders if this is **the** talk, the one he’d been half-expecting to get a few years from now, after they’d Forgotten what they meant to one another. Maybe Stanley was already outgrowing him. Already embarrassed that he’d had to introduce a smart, outgoing girl like Patty Blum to his stuttering clod of a boyfriend. Or maybe Stan was simply realizing that his father’s plan to marry him off to a nice Jewish girl didn’t sound so bad after all, not when the girl in question was practically a 5’4” Phoebe Cates. Maybe…

Bill is vaguely aware that they’ve stopped, that the petite girl is hugging each of them goodbye. He tries again to hate her, but to no avail. She’s done nothing wrong, doesn’t deserve his anger. He’s not sure who to be angry with if not her. The walk back to their dorm is dead silent. Stanley’s hands haven’t left his pockets yet, not even to hug Patty goodbye, and Bill’s fingers hook agitatedly into his belt loops, hands in fists at his sides. The silence continues even after they’re safely inside of their room, just staring at one another. Stanley never knows where to start these kinds of conversations, and Bill is at a loss for words.

“S-so. We’re in the cluh-closet now?” Bill doesn’t mean to sound as wounded as he does, and he sees Stan flinch at the tone.

“I don’t know. We never talked about this. About what we’d tell people, what we’d do in public…” Stan’s shoulders pull up into a shrug - not uncaring, but uncomfortable. Bill scoffs.

“We’ve nuh-never had to talk about that stuff. We al-always just did it. What chuh-changed?” Stan looks honestly shocked at Bill’s words.

“We never ‘just did’ anything, Bill. We didn’t hide it too well, but they were already calling us queer by then anyway. And neither of us ever really told anybody we were together until they’d already guessed. I couldn’t even tell our fucking friends. I only told my dad when he threatened to break us up, and you never even told your mom!” Bill shakes his head.

“My muh- _mom_? Fuck, Stan, s-she probably hasn’t nuh-noticed we’re _gone_ yet! This isn’t about her. It can’t be about her!” Bill swallows hard, fights the wobble in his voice. Stan immediately comes close, rests a hand on Bill’s arm. Bill forces himself to take a deep breath.

“It’s not. It’s about us.” Bill can tell he’s seconds away from crying, and Stan curses. “Fuck, not like that. I’m so bad at this shit. I’m pretty ridiculously bad at it.” Stan chances a tiny smile at Bill. Bill can’t return it, but he pulls Stan into his arms anyway.

“Wuh-we can work on it. _I_ can w-work on it, Stan. Wuh-whatever’s wrong, I c-c-can…” His stutter is getting worse, and he knows it. No wonder Stan doesn’t…

“Shh…” The sound is light and soothing, and Stan follows it with the barest brush of lips against his. “It’s not about you fixing anything, dove. It’s about us really talking about this. Deciding what we’re comfortable sharing about our relationship, with whom, and when. What displays of affection we’re willing to let others see.” The relief that floods through Bill at the perfectly sensible words almost stops him from noticing the pet name. Almost.

“Did you just c-call me dove?” Bill’s grin is both playful and pleased. Stanley looks completely unamused at Bill’s joy, cheeks pink.

“No. Shut up. You’re an ass and I don’t like you very much at all.” Bill hums disbelievingly, his confidence rushing back by the minute.

“Of course you don’t. Yuh-you’re always telling me how much you h-hate doves. Rats with w-wings, right?” Stan lets out an indignant shriek and playfully launches himself at Bill. Bill just laughs and catches him, swinging him in a circle before falling seated onto the bed, arms winding around Stan’s waist, Stan’s legs draped sideways over Bill’s thighs. Stan’s own arms loop around Bill’s neck, lips connecting for a few playful kisses, laughing into each others’ mouths. After a few more gentle kisses Stan raises his head, eyes taking on a soft sincerity. He doesn’t make any move to leave his perch on Bill’s lap, and Bill doesn’t ask him to.

“So. Where do we start?” Bill thinks for a moment, unsure. They probably should’ve known this by now, but nothing about their relationship had been anywhere near conventional, and they’d never had to think about it before. The one time Bill had tried had been their date, which still ranks as one of the most awkward afternoons they’d ever shared together.

“Yuh-your hands.” Stan’s brows raise. “They’re always in your puh-pockets lately. I miss just g-getting to walk up to you and h-hold your hand.” Stan smiles gently, leans in for another slow kiss.

“I think I can handle that. They’re yours anytime you want them. If they’re in my pockets, just knock and I’ll take them out for you. Anything else?” Getting one item agreed upon lifts a weight off of Bill’s shoulders that he hadn’t even realized was there. He can’t help but push his luck.

“Kuh-kisses?” Bill is perfectly aware of how hopeful he sounds. Stan presses a kiss to Bill’s jaw. 

“Not yet. You’ve got my hands and I’ll meet you halfway at hugs, but… I need to work up to that here. Sorry.” The last word is all but a whisper, and Bill immediately squeezes Stan’s body tightly.

“Hey, no s-sorries. That’s what we’re duh-doing here, right? Pushing b-boundaries and figuring out l-limits.” Stan smiles gratefully, leaning up for another kiss. Bill obliges before speaking again. “Um. Y-your friend. Puh-Patty. Can we t-tell her?” He’s not sure of the reaction he’s going to get for this request. The last time he’d asked Stan to come out to friends of theirs hadn’t worked out quite the way Bill had planned, but he can’t help but hope that the good experience there had made Stanley realize he didn’t have to hide from a true friend. And he sure as hell doesn’t want to have to explain to Stanley how jealous he’ll be if they don’t tell her. Stan just shrugs.

“I don’t see why we wouldn’t, considering that I just gave you permission to hold my hand in front of her. She’d figure it out anyway.” Bill swallows. He’d gotten the answer he’d been hoping for, but not the reaction.

“I-is that okay with y-you?” Bill isn’t sure what he’ll do if Stanley says no. Isn’t sure where they’d even go from there. Stan hesitates for a moment before nodding.

“If she’s really a friend, she won’t care. I’ll tell her soon.” Bill grins widely.

“S-so it’s official? You’re m-my boyfriend?” Bill is nearly giddy with excitement, but Stan simply rolls his eyes.

“If you’re just realizing that now, I have some serious questions about how you treat your friends.” Bill isn’t even bothered by the sarcasm, pulling Stan into an eager kiss, swallowing the other boy’s contented hum. They’ve only gotten back to the common ground they’d had before the move, but Bill still feels like he’s won something. 

He deepens the kiss to hold back the ‘I love you’ threatening to escape his throat.


	3. Three

Stan knows he needs to tell Patty about he and Bill. He’d promised Bill that he would, and for some reason this seems to really MEAN something to Bill… Maybe even more than telling the other Losers had, somehow. In a way, it’d be a relief for Stan too. No matter her reaction, at least he’d know. He could stop wondering if finding out that he was gay would be too much baggage for the girl to handle in a friendship. It’s the best possible course of action in every way.

Knowing that and actually doing it are two very different things. Part of it is because he actually likes spending time with Patty. She’s the first Jewish person he’s ever met that didn’t judge him for not being strict enough. She’s sweet and friendly in a very unassuming way - she reminds him of Ben a little in that regard, and he’d always enjoyed Ben’s company. She’s the first friend he’d made on his own since he’d met Richie in kindergarten, and that alone is worth something to him. Something he isn’t ready to let go of.

Beyond that, though? He can admit that the fear is more about himself. He’s never quite said the words before. He’s admitted that he’s in a gay relationship, that he’s interested in having gay sex with his boyfriend - sex that will likely involve him taking a more passive role at first, if their relative heights and comfort levels are to be believed. He’d spoken of his sexuality with his father, with Richie, with the others. And yet the words still have yet to leave his throat. Saying it feels significant somehow. 

_’It’ll mean you’re officially somebody that you didn’t fucking think you were, no going back. It’ll mean Hockstetter was right about the names he called you.’_ Richie’s words from months ago still ring in his ears. The more Stan ponders them, the truer they sound. Stan isn’t even sure that gay is the right word for what he is, but he’s lost everyone he can talk about that sort of thing to now. The other Losers are distant, and Bill would only take his unsureness as an insult. Some sort of admission that Stan is questioning their relationship. If he’s lucky, maybe Patty could be that person for him.

Either way, he knows he has to tell her. He can only hope that it goes better than he’s expecting.

*

He’s sitting with Patty in the school’s library, tucked away in a quiet corner - another glimpse of Ben in her, another nostalgic pang in his heart. They’re relatively isolated from the other few stragglers in the building, and the spot they’ve picked out is separate enough that they can talk without being overheard or shushed. It’s the perfect place, the perfect time.

“Pat?” The girl lowers the book she’s studying, carefully marking her page. “Listen, there’s something I have to tell you before I can go on being your friend. It may change what you think of me, and that’s okay if it does, but I’m asking you to please keep it private either way.”

“Oh. I knew this was going to happen. Sweetie, I’m flattered and all, but-” Stan cuts her off mid-sentence, words coming out in a quick whoosh.

“Bill’s my boyfriend. I’m… gay, I guess.” Stan stares down at the books littering the table in front of them. Patty is quiet for a long moment, and Stan’s skin crawls. He quickly grabs the books and starts to straighten them, stacking them by size, making sure they’re lined up perfectly straight. His jaw itches, but he fights the urge to scratch at it. The sound he hears thirty seconds later shocks him: Patty is _laughing_. Not cruelly, not mockingly. Just pure, sweet laughter.

“Wow. I can’t believe I just tried to turn down a romantic overture that wasn’t actually happening. I really need to get out more.” Stan’s own laugh is disbelieving, almost incredulous. This can’t be it. He waits for the other shoe to drop. “You don’t have to answer this, if it’s too personal…” Stan waits for the insult. For the name calling, or even for the _’What is a man like HIM doing with someone like YOU?’_ “What do you mean you GUESS? I don’t know a lot about it, but I’ve always heard it’s not the kind of thing you really need to guess about.” Much less insulting than Stan is expecting, but no easier to answer. He must make a face or something, because Patty is already shaking her head. “Like I said, you don’t gotta answer.”

“No. No, I want to, I just... “ Stan doesn’t know how to say this, not really. It’s a thought he’s had, but not one he likes to dwell on. Just another thing that makes him a freak. “Bill is the only one I’ve ever been interested in. Not just the only man, the only person. But we grew up together, so he’s always been there. There didn’t need to be anyone else for me. And if he doesn’t change his mind about us, I won’t ever need there to be. I don’t know if being attracted to one man makes you gay, but it definitely makes you not straight. Hence the guessing part.” Stanley doesn’t know why he’s sharing so much with this woman - they’ve barely just met, and he hasn’t really vetted her to make sure she’s trustworthy with his secrets. But there’s something about her - her Ben-like nature, maybe, or her current status as his only accessible friend. Hell, maybe just the simple fact that she’d cared enough to ask. Something tells him that he can trust her. Patty coos softly.

“That might be the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.” Stan snorts, and the girl continues. “No, really! Like the words and labels and body parts don’t even matter because you found the one, that perfect person for you, and all that you care about is love.” Stan sputters.

“I didn’t say _love_! You… I didn’t say that!” Patty just laughs at him, shaking her head.

“Oh, good. Gay boys still fit the scared of love boy stereotype. I was worried that we’d have to simply skip that part.” At Stan’s glare, she continues. “You just said that he’s the only one for you and that you’d spend the rest of your life with him if you had the chance. If you don’t love him, I’m very worried about your priorities.”

“I regret our friendship.” Stan’s voice is dry, has no bite to it. Patty’s is similarly disaffected.

“That’s nice, dear. Too late, but nice anyway.” Stan can’t help but laugh as Patty grabs her book from the table again, carefully opening it back to her page. His lips quirk a little as his attention moves back to his own study, the question of _love_ still floating at the edges of his consciousness. Perhaps she was right. Just a little.

*

Bill is painting when Stan gets home from the library, brows furrowed, brush tracing shadows on his easel. He’s seen Bill paint enough to know that this isn’t the kind of piece Bill intends on finishing tonight, that it’ll take him at least four days of intense planning, adding the tiniest details one at a time before stepping back to take in the painting as a whole, needing to see the entire composition before adding the next miniscule brushstroke. The lack of rush makes him feel perfectly fine about interrupting, pressing his body to Bill’s back, kissing his shoulder blade. Bill breaks into a grin at the contact.

“You d-didn’t even have to lean down to do that. So sh-short.” Stan glares, but there’s no heat behind it.

 

“I thought I was happy to see you, but that was clearly a mistake on my part.” Bill laughs and turns in Stan’s grip, pulling Stanley in for a deep kiss. It isn’t even pretending to be innocent, hands tangling in hair and clothes, Stan greedily sucking on Bill’s tongue until Bill makes that low strangled noise that Stanley absolutely _adores_ , neither willing to break the kiss until their lips are swollen and they’re fighting for breath, half-hard and pressed as tightly together as they can get. Stan’s eyes sparkle, a teasing smile on his lips. “Okay. Maybe I’m a little bit happy to see you.” He leans up for another kiss, but Bill holds him at arm’s length, a guarded look in his eyes. What?

“So, how was the l-library?” Ah. That. Stan is more than relieved that he’d already dealt with this.

“Okay. I told Patty about us, she waxed poetic about how perfect we were, then we went back to studying. And speaking of going back to things that are pressing and important…” Stan pushes his hips forward insistently, making a little broken sound at the feel of their groins grinding together. Bill’s hands slip around to cup Stan’s ass, pulling him in harder.

“Thank you.” Bill’s words are quiet against Stan’s throat, emotional. Stan tilts his head down to give Bill a gentle kiss, indulging in the sweetness of Bill’s gratitude for a few seconds, letting them have this tender moment. He’s about to speak after a few seconds, but Bill beats him to it. “Let me guess. If I w-want to thank you, you can come up with suh-some more interesting ways to do it than this. You’re such a b-brat, Stan.” Stan just laughs.

“I’m sorry, am I wrong in assuming that you want me naked? Because I can always-” Bill squeezes Stan’s ass harder, hard enough to lift him onto his tiptoes, legs splaying wide enough to make him straddle Bill’s thigh, sentence cutting out in an obscene whimper. Bill knows just how arousing Stan finds his newly-gained strength, and damn it if the asshole doesn’t use that to his advantage every time they do this now.

 

“A-Always…?” Bill’s response is light, playful. He gets like this sometimes, abdicating his normal goal of getting his hand down Stanley’s briefs as quickly as possible in favor of teasing Stan until he’s the one scrambling to get into Bill’s. It’s frustrating and annoying, but also stupidly arousing in ways that Stan doesn’t even bother trying to understand. 

“Always.” Stan agrees huskily, though there’s really nothing to agree with in the word. He fastens his lips to Bill’s throat, biting and sucking at the skin, leaving tiny purple bruises in the flesh. Bill is biting his lip hard to muffle his groans, and Stan is reminded once again that they’re in a dorm. They have to be quiet here. He briefly contemplates making that silence difficult for Bill, but something in his mind tells him that today isn’t the day for that. He allows Bill to guide him toward the bed, lay him down, press their hips together for some truly delicious friction.

They still haven’t done more than hands and some grinding, and they’ve gotten increasingly good at both of those since the first awkward time. Months of shy, nervous exploration had given Stan the confidence to let Bill pleasure him, to be in the moment and let himself _feel_ , knowing that Bill would be there to ground him if he got overstimulated and dizzy. Touching isn’t enough this time, though. Stan is flying high from his earlier confession, his newfound sense of self, the hot coil of desire pooling in his stomach. He needs _something_...

“Bill, stop.” Bill does immediately, his eyes questioning, caring. And just like that, Stan knows for sure. “I want… I want to try your fingers. In me.” As certain as he is, the words aren’t easy to get out. He feels Bill’s dick jump against his thigh, the sensation familiar though he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to being the cause of Bill’s desire.

“Are you s-sure?” He can feel the need rolling off Bill in waves. Bill so badly WANTS Stan to be sure. But he isn’t pushing, just in case. _I love him_. The thought alone makes Stan shiver, but he pushes away the part of his mind that wants to overanalyze and pick apart. Not today, not now.

“I’m sure. Just… go slow?” Stan knows he doesn’t even have to say the words. Bill has always taken care of him, would never do anything to hurt him. But he knows he has to say something. Bill just nods, understanding.

“Y-yeah, of course. I have stuh-stuff to help and I’ll just g-go g-get it now.” Bill clears his throat, practically blushing as he runs over to his shaving kit and produces a small bottle of personal lubricant from it. Cocky, teasing Bill has melted away into a stuttery overeager virgin, and Stan can’t help but be a little charmed by that. “Um. Do you w-want to take off your cuh-clothes? If you want.” They’re both blushing as Stanley rises from the bed and starts to undress, never quite meeting one another’s eyes. 

“You should probably do that too. It’d be weird if I was the only naked one.” Bill lets out a nervous laugh and strips too, hesitating at the underwear. They haven’t done this yet, the fully nude thing. Stan had never really felt like the timing was right, and Bill has been more than gracious enough to follow Stan’s timeline with everything they’ve done. Stanley hadn’t been completely sure of what the ‘right timing’ for seeing your longtime boyfriend’s penis was, but he’d known they hadn’t reached it yet. He understands now what he’d been waiting for. This feeling, the swell of his heart as he watches Bill shyly fumble with the bottle of lube and pretend he isn’t staring at Stan’s body. Before he can change his mind, Stan hooks his fingers into the waistband of his own briefs and tugs them down. Fully exposed. He can’t quite bring himself to meet Bill’s eye. “Your turn.”

Stan’s first instinct is to avert his eyes when Bill moves to push his underwear down. It feels important for him to look, though, as though maybe it’ll make a difference. Like maybe seeing Bill fully nude will cement his homosexuality, will finally make him feel _gay_.

It doesn’t. Stan stares unabashedly as Bill’s underwear hit the floor, but nothing changes in him. It’s not that it’s a bad dick. As far as dicks go it’s actually quite nice, though Stan’s inexperience leaves him with very few points of reference on that. It’s well-groomed, colored nicely, and wonderfully symmetrical. But in the end, it’s still just a dick. Stan isn’t certain what to do with that.

“You’re stuh-staring.” Stan’s eyes fly up to Bill’s face, watching Bill’s cheeks turn pink. “It’s… okay, right?” Stan can’t help but smile at the nervous question. No, it isn’t just a dick. It’s Bill’s. That’s enough to make it special. 

“Hm. I haven’t decided yet. Bring it over here and let me get a closer look.” The tension drains from Bill’s shoulders at the gentle tease, and as soon as Bill is close enough to him they’re kissing again, slowly building back to the burning need that their mutual awkwardness had dulled. They start off sweet and slow, but it doesn’t take too long for their tender kisses to give way to twined tongues and roaming hands, bare groins grinding together. The sensation is new, and the way Bill’s wiry pubic hair feels scratching over the head of Stan’s cock has him whining his need into Bill’s mouth. Bill barely breaks the kiss to speak, words vibrating against Stan’s lips.

“Did you st-still want to?” It takes Stan a second to get past his lust to understand what he’s being asked.

“Yeah, Bill. I want you to.” Stan glances at the bed, then back at Bill, wrinkling his nose. “I guess… Do I just get on my knees?” The position sounds incredibly generic, almost clinical, but Stan can’t think of any other way. Bill shakes his head stubbornly.

“N-no way. Not our fuh-first time. It has to be s-special.” As unsentimental as Stan normally is, he can’t deny how relieved he is to hear Bill say that. He’s been spoiled by the affection and closeness he gets from Bill when they touch each other. He doesn’t think he could enjoy sex any other way. “How about this?” 

Stan watches Bill lay back on the bed, then allows Bill to guide him in as well, body moving where Bill leads. He almost laughs when he realizes that they’re in their normal sleeping position, Bill on his back, Stan cuddled against Bill’s chest, one leg strewn haphazardly over Bill’s hips. The position feels different without clothes, but still comfortable. Stan wouldn’t have it any other way. He tilts his head up for a kiss, taking a calming breath against Bill’s mouth. The click of the lubricant cap is almost startlingly loud. 

“I’ve n-never done this.” Stan isn’t expecting Bill to say that, isn’t sure he’d actually believed it until now. “So if I do so-something wrong, tell me.” Stan kisses the tip of Bill’s chin.

“Don’t I always?” The response is too glib for the situation they’re in right now, but Bill doesn’t seem to mind. Stan’s expecting to feel Bill’s hand at his ass by now, probing and rough. He’s expecting pain. But Bill hasn’t even reached for his ass yet, instead drawing Stan into a series of heady kisses, one hand moving down between their bodies to stroke Stan’s dick, making him groan with pleasure and frustration. “Just do it already, Bill.”

“Wow. Ruh-romantic.” Stan’s comeback dies on his tongue as he feels Bill’s other hand move down his body, wrist resting on the curve of his ass, two slickened fingers lazily stroking and circling over his hole. Just the touch makes Stan’s nerves tingle, body shivering and squirming impatiently in Bill’s arms. “Lie stuh-still for me, Stan. Let me do this.” It takes all of Stan’s willpower to force his hips to still, busying himself by trading kisses with Bill instead, fingers roaming slowly over the smooth planes of Bill’s chest, thigh pressing down hard against Bill’s shaft. After a few more slow strokes, Bill’s fingertip finally pushes inside.

The noise Stan makes is undignified at best, a gaspy little choked out thing that he can’t imagine Bill possibly finding sexy. Bill doesn’t seem thrown off by it at all, carefully sliding in up to the first knuckle, his own breathing labored against Stan’s cheek. It isn’t completely painless, a slight, dull sting springing up each time Stan’s hole clenches around Bill’s probing finger. But it’s far from being the worst pain he’s ever felt, and it’s far outweighed by the sense of intimacy he feels for Bill in this moment. He’s never felt anything like this before. 

His hand is traveling down Bill’s chest and stomach before he realizes, shifting to release Bill’s dick from beneath his thigh and taking it into his hand instead, starting a slow rhythm of jerks. Bill’s free hand immediately moves to Stan’s shaft to reciprocate, his finger inside of Stan moving to a similar rhythm, pulling back with every downstroke only to push back in with each upstroke, a little bit deeper than each time before it. His brow furrows adorably with the concentration of keeping both motions in sync, and Stan leans up to brush a gentle kiss over the skin. There’s something almost lazy about their rhythm, neither of them in any rush to finish this too quickly, a silent agreement between the two of them to savor this, to draw it out for as long as they can stand.

That thought completely leaves Stan’s mind when Bill’s second knuckle pushes past his hole, the tip of his finger grazing something inside of Stan that makes him see _stars_. Everything suddenly feels urgent, his senses buzzing unpleasantly. He can feel the prickle of goosebumps on his skin, the dull thud of his own heartbeat against his ribcage, the pleasure shooting through his nerves so sharp that it almost feels like pain.

“Bill…” Stan’s words are nearly a sob against Bill’s throat, breath shaky, hand wavering a little though he’s still stroking Bill, almost mechanically now. “It’s too much, too good, I can’t…” Bill makes a vague soothing sound against Stan’s hair, nuzzling gently. His finger stops moving in Stan, other hand moving from Stan’s dick to his hand, guiding Stan away from stroking him, linking their fingers together. A trail of soft, tender kisses starts at Stan’s temple, drags over his forehead.

“It’s okay, baby. B-breathe for me.” Bill kisses the bridge of Stan’s nose, and Stan tilts his head up to meet him, kissing Bill’s lips. He forces his focus to stay there, on Bill’s soft lips, his intense eyes, the warmth of his breath as their lips meet. He saturates himself on the comfort of Bill’s arm around him, Bill’s hand in his. It doesn’t take long before Stan’s mind clears, his hips unconsciously pushing down into Bill’s finger again.

“I’m fine, I’m good. Keep going, please…” Bill’s eyes don’t leave Stan’s for another long moment - checking, making sure he’s fully okay before doing what he’d asked. He must see what he’s looking for because he finally starts to move inside of Stan again, pulling almost all of the way out before pushing back in, fingertip gently prodding at that spot that makes every nerve in Stan’s body feel electrically charged. He tilts his head up for another slow kiss, letting himself be grounded by Bill’s solid weight and presence. Safe.

Stan squeezes Bill’s hand and leads it back down to their groins. He’s prepared to let go when they reach their respective members but Bill takes over the motion instead, keeping their fingers linked but spreading their palms, guiding Stan to help him grasp both of them at the same time. Stan allows his own fingers to follow the motion, thumb linking with Bill’s to keep both of their shafts pressed together, hands starting to move again, quicker than before, building toward orgasm. Stan knows he’s way closer than Bill is, but he’s way too far gone to worry about that now. 

“So good, Bill. You feel so good. I didn’t know it would feel like this, I’m…” Stan gasps softly, biting at Bill’s neck to muffle his louder sounds, leaving a myriad of wild red marks over the column of his throat. Bill lets out a ragged groan against Stan’s hair.

“I know you’re cuh-close, Stan. Don’t hold back. Want to m-make you come.” There’s something deeply proprietary in Bill’s voice as he says the words, as if this orgasm belongs to Bill, too. Stan supposes that it does, in a way. Then Bill’s finger hits the perfect angle inside of him and he can’t think anymore at all, mind going blissfully blank as he comes, only aware of heat and pleasure and _Bill_ , nothing else powerful enough to find purchase in his post-orgasamic haze. 

He comes back to himself at the feel of Bill’s finger sliding out of him, part of him already missing the sensation of being filled. Then Bill is rolling him onto his back, Bill’s weight pressing down between Stan’s spread thighs, Bill’s warmth surrounding him. Stan quickly pushes Bill’s hand away from their dicks, his own fingers wrapping tightly around Bill’s dick, immediately starting to jerk. Bill had taken care of him, and even his post-orgasmic weakness won’t stop him from returning the favor, not wanting to leave Bill hanging when Bill had been so good to him. Bill lets out a rough groan against Stan’s skin when Stanley squeezes his shaft the way he knows Bill likes, and in spite of being completely spent Stan can’t help but feel a rush of pleasure at that. 

They fall into a rhythm quickly, Stan stroking and scratching as Bill’s hips push forward, fucking into Stan’s fist, Bill’s face buried into Stan’s neck, his breathing ragged against Stan’s throat, eyes closed. Bill’s thrusts get more insistent, the width of his thighs pushing Stan’s legs further apart, hands squeezing Stan’s hips tightly. _He’s thinking about fucking me_. The thought doesn’t scare Stan in the slightest. The more he thinks of it, the more comfortable he becomes.

“I’m thinking about it too.” Stan’s voice is soft against Bill’s ear, almost shy. “About you being inside of me, fucking me just like this.” Bill comes with a keening cry, nuzzling into Stan’s throat, breathing hard against it. Stan is still for as long as he can handle, but at the haze of post-coital bliss fades but can’t stop himself from squirming uncomfortably at the feel of the cooling fluids coating his wrist and stomach. He casts a needy look toward the bathroom, pulling his hands away from Bill’s body, trying to dislodge himself. Bill presses a quick kiss to Stan’s chin, springing up out of the bed.

“Ruh-relax? Lay back, I’ll t-take care of you.” Stan is about to protest, but Bill is already headed into the bathroom, the water running. Stan forces himself to relax and wait, breathing deep, smiling a little bit tensely at Bill when Bill comes back with the washcloth. He reaches his hand out to take the cloth, but Bill just starts to wipe him down instead, tender and gentle. He’s expecting it to not be enough, but Bill is thorough enough to make Stanley feel clean, getting rid of every trace of fluid and lubricant from Stan’s body. Bill tosses the cloth into the hamper before lying back down, Stan immediately cuddling up to Bill’s body, needing him close after what they’d just done together. Now that the afterglow is fading, he can’t help but feel a little embarrassed. 

“I’m sorry. For making you stop. It’s not that I don’t like being with you, it’s just overwhelming sometimes. And being overwhelmed makes me hyperfocus, which makes me even more overwhelmed.” Bill kisses Stan’s hair, squeezes Stan’s body tight.

“I know. I-it’s part of your OCD, ruh-right?” The question surprises Stan enough to make him raise his head, eyes squinted questioningly. 

“How did you know that?” The question is almost defensive, though Stan doesn’t mean for it to be. Is he really that obvious?

“I’ve buh-been with you through this for years, Stan. Our en-entire friendship. Knowing huh-how to make you f-feel better is important to me. You d-don’t have to be suh-sorry for letting me take cuh-care of you. I want to. Always.” Stan usually hates the idea that he should need to be taken care of by anyone, stubbornly fighting against the idea of weakness. Only damaged people need to be coddled, and Stan hates to admit that he’s damaged. But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t deny the fact that Bill’s desire to care for him feels good. 

“Then I guess getting stuck with you isn’t the worst thing that could have ever happened to me.” It’s probably the best, but Stan can’t say that out loud. He’s pretty sure Bill understands.

“Y-you’re just saying that because I have luh-long fingers.” Bill cards his fingers through Stan’s hair, and Stan hums in contentment.

“Not just that. You’re also incredibly comfortable.” Bill snorts.

“Just what every m-man likes to hear.” Stan nuzzles closer to Bill’s chest, yawns sleepily.

“You’re not just any man. You’re the best one. Partly because you’re comfortable, and reliable, and safe. I know you’re proud of that, even though you think it sounds boring.” Stan is practically asleep when Bill speaks again, voice barely a whisper.

“You feel s-safe with me?” 

“Mhmm…” It’s the best response Stan can articulate while mostly sleeping. Bill’s next breath is shaky, and Stan can feel Bill’s lips move against his forehead, mouthing words against it, completely silent. Any other time he’d try to decipher what Bill had said, but he’s already too far gone for that. He falls asleep.


	4. Four

“No, Bill. I’m sorry, but this is just unforgivable. I told you I’d leave you if you ever did this shit to me. We’re over.” Bill scrambles away from the bed as though he’d been burned, eyes wide. _Shit_.

“F-fuck! You weren’t supposed to be buh-back for another twuh-twenty minutes!” Stan’s eyes cast over the messy bedspread, jaw tight. Bill motions down toward the bed nervously. “Huh-happy anniversary?” He quickly reaches for the mess of items on the sheets, grasping the small bouquet of summer lilac and egret orchids in one hand, picking up one of the origami birds in the other. He tries his best not to stutter or ramble and fails at both. “I truh-tried to make a goldfinch, buh-because that’s our bird, but there are no p-patterns for that so I had to make one up, and thuh-then I couldn’t get them to stick t-to the bouquet…” 

“We have a bird?” Stan’s voice is soft, slightly wavering, looking completely blown away. The dry sarcasm from earlier had all but vanished, giving way to one of Stan’s increasingly less rare moments of vulnerability. Bill smiles. 

“We do. I fuh-fell for you watching this bird. I know you still h-have the picture I drew for you in your buh-bird book. And we made up f-from our first fight talking about this bird. Our bird.” Bill chances a step closer now that Stan is clearly more receptive to the gift, holding his hand out. Stan reaches out to touch the bouquet with shaking fingers, as though he wants to take it but isn’t certain how. “Buh-besides, you told me you’d dump me the day b-before our anniversary. You’re too late now.” Stan hums.

“Good loophole. I guess I’ll go along with whatever you have planned. You know, since I’m here and all.” He finally leans forward to smell the flowers, fingers resting delicately on Bill’s wrists to keep the bouquet still. Bill knows that Stan isn’t going to thank him, but just seeing Stan’s obvious appreciation is enough. 

“Guh-good, because I want to take you out. Don’t even a-ask where, just get r-ready.” Bill is pretty sure he’s more excited about this than Stan is, Stan’s smile small and indulgent, like he’s humoring Bill just by going along with it. He meets Stan halfway for a gentle kiss.

“I’m cleaning up your mess before we go. Put those in some water for me?” They share one more peck before Bill goes to grab some water for the flowers, settling on a mug since they don’t have a vase. When he comes back out the bed is clear, folding paper organized on the desk, bedspread smoothed out. The little paper birds he’d made are gone. He covertly checks the trash bin as he sets the flowers on the corner of the desk, immensely relieved to find that they aren’t there. 

“Shuh-shall we go?” Bill offers his arm to Stan, giving him a hopeful smile. Stan’s lips quick in amusement, but he doesn’t hesitate before taking it, hand gently squeezing Bill’s muscle.

“If you start skipping, it really is over.” Any comeback Bill may have had is swallowed by the kiss Stan gives him as they walk out the door.

*

Bill’s been planning this date for over a week. It had taken multiple phone calls, days of strategizing exactly how to set everything up perfectly. He’d had to remind himself that romantic traditions like fancy candlelit dinners just didn’t fit into a relationship with Stanley, focusing on things that he knew would make the other man happy instead. Seeing Stan’s wide eyes as they drive up to the state park makes it all worthwhile. 

 

“They h-have a bird watching trail. I figured we cuh-could cuddle up on a bench and see some? I know you huh-haven’t gotten to collect any birds since we moved.” Stan’s lips quirk downward.

“You should’ve told me where you were taking me, Bill. I didn’t bring my binoculars, or my book.” Bill is so giddy he goes pink.

“Y-you think I don’t know you need those? I have your buh-book. As for the bin...binoculars…” Bill reaches into the backseat, pulling forward a wrapped package, handing it to Stanley. Stan’s lips twist a little, but the happiness is clear in his eyes.

“You spoiled the surprise by saying that.” Stan’s fingers are careful on the paper even though he knows that the item between them isn’t fragile. Watching Stanley carefully re-fold the paper into a neat square is oddly soothing. Then Stan sees the binoculars beneath, eyes going wide again, fingers even gentler on them. “They’re _gorgeous_ , Bill…” They aren’t, at least not to Bill. He’d forgone the cosmetically detailed pairs he’d seen to get the most utilitarian pair with the best lenses he could afford, knowing that Stan would appreciate that more than any extra detailing. Stan seems to appreciate even the simplicity of the frame, though, and his obvious wonder makes Bill smile.

“I’m guh-glad you like them. Now let’s go t-test them out?” Stan practically drags Bill out of the car and into the park, fingers clutching Bill’s hand as tightly as he’s clutching the binoculars. He clearly wants to try them out now, but refrains until they get to a clearing deep enough in the park to be surrounded by trees, light chirps and whistles floating down to them over the breeze. They wind up sitting together in the grass, Stan sitting in the grass between Bill’s spread thighs, Bill’s chest against Stan’s back, Bill’s arms wound around Stan’s waist. Bill doesn’t have binoculars of his own, but he doesn’t really need them. Stanley points out the direction of every bird he sees, Bill resting his chin on Stan’s shoulder to see the flash of color in the tree, the leaves trembling with the bird’s movement.

Bill doesn’t care so much about the birds, honestly. He’s more content to listen to Stan’s excited chatter about them as they sing behind his voice, to watch the wind flutter through the tree branches, to see the interplay of light and shadow as the sun’s rays do their best to peek through the fringed leaves. In the end he gets as much relaxation and comfort out of this as Stan does.

He does his best through the hours they spend out to be mindful of Stan’s no kissing in public rule, not wanting to push a boundary that Stan had asked him to respect. Fortunately Stanley himself is terrible at following it, turning his head every so often to trade sweet, chaste kisses with Bill in the relative privacy of the near-deserted glade. Obviously, Bill has no complaints. 

*

They pick up takeout on the way home, some halfway decent Italian food from a place someone in Bill’s art class had recommended. Stanley shoos Bill into the bathroom as soon at they get home.

“You’ve been driving, and I know your hands are disgusting. I washed mine at the restaurant. I’ll get the food out while you clean up.” Bill isn’t used to being forced to wash before eating unless his fingers are covered in paint or graphite, but he allows Stan to corral him into the bathroom anyway. He can’t help but let his mind wander as he washes up.

Today had been good - almost better than expected, if Bill is being honest. It hadn’t been the great romance that Bill had always hoped for his first anniversary with the love of his life to be. But it had been sweet and comfortable, and it had made Stanley happy. And Stan had accepted everything - the flowers, the cuddles and kisses and sweet nothings Bill had whispered to him while he was watching the birds. Accepting a little bit of his sentimentality is all he’d really asked of Stan, and Stan had done it without question. He can live without the overblown romance so long as he has that.

When he walks back into the bedroom, he instantly changes his mind. He _needs_ the romance, the idyllic courtship, the dream love story. He realizes it the second he sees their few non-flammable surfaces sporting lightly flickering candles that he was certain had been bought solely for this occasion, a plain box clearly containing a gift perched atop their bed, their meals laid out on the desk like a dinner table with little coffee mugs of wine poured next to them, Stan’s lilac bouquet placed exactly in between their trays. Stan looks rather uncomfortable with the scene, but there’s something in his eyes that tells Bill that he’s only uneasy because he doesn’t know if Bill likes it. Bill smiles wide, happiness in his eyes, and Stan visibly relaxes.

“I thought you said you didn’t ruh-remember the date.” That’s all Bill can really say before giving into his impulse to sweep Stan into his arms, pressing his face into Stan’s hair and just _breathing_ against him. This isn’t exactly a romance novel come to life, a little too simple and informal for that. But it’s more than he ever would have expected from Stanley, and he knows his boyfriend had done it solely for him. That makes it more special than he ever could’ve imagined this day to be.

“Honestly, I didn’t. But I knew the month, and when you started acting shifty and spastic last week I figured you were either cheating on me or this was it. Since we’ve already established that you’re a good man, I figured I’d just assume it was the anniversary thing and stash all of this under the bed until you told me exactly which day it was.” Bill can’t help but laugh at the words, high on the love that he wants so badly to express that it hurts. Nothing would make him happier than to tell Stanley he loves him on their first anniversary, but he still doesn’t think Stan is ready to hear it yet. He won’t ruin an overture like this one by pushing too hard.

“Thuh-that’s the most unsentimental thing I’ve e-ever heard someone say and still sound emotional.” Bill can’t quite get the corny grin off of his face, even as Stan gives him a snarky look.

“Yes, I’ve also met me. Now open your present and sit your ass down to eat before we have to reheat these meatballs on the candle.” 

The typewriter in the box is old enough that some of the keys are offset and slightly yellowed, the T printed crookedly on the button. It’s beautifully old and flawed - Bill immediately falls in love with it. He tries not to get too choked up over the gift, but he can’t stop his mind from wandering to the future, a future he isn’t sure he’ll ever have. A little boy and girl in onesie pajamas, both sitting on Stanley’s lap, looking through a photo album as their fathers tell them the story of their first year. Stan admonishing the memory of their younger selves for being wasteful with money, Bill reminding Stan that the money they’d bought their home with was earned by the first book he’d typed on that ‘wasteful’ typewriter. It’s a pipe dream for now, but Bill knows he can make every bit of it come true with time. 

For now he focuses on a different dream, one he’d had months ago when fantasizing about this day. Stanley, content and happy, his smile tiny and real, candlelight glittering in the golden striations of his hazel eyes as he looks at Bill as if Bill was everything he could ever want. That dream is standing in front of him now, raw and real. They’ve made it a whole year. Bill knows they’ll make it for countless more.

It’s _perfect _.__


	5. Five

Stan is in love with Bill.

It’s a thought he’d spent months avoiding before Patty had pointed it out to him, and a thought he’s had dozens of times since. He’d thought it every time Bill murmured quiet words into his hair at night, every time he’d woken up to a hot mug of coffee left out for him on the mornings Bill had his early class. When he’d realized their anniversary was happening whether he’d liked or not and he’d actually wanted to do something sweet for Bill, to show Bill that the day meant something to him too. Bill was overall an easy person to love, and Stan hadn’t had any trouble noticing. That wasn’t the problem. 

The problem itself was a little tougher to point out. In truth, there were almost too many to name. He’s sure his own insecurity doesn’t help matters much, but he can’t help but worry that Bill will find himself drawn to someone else here - someone with more mystery than a longtime best friend, someone more attractive and uninhibited and _sexual_. Someone capable of stimulating the fun, spontaneous side of Bill that Stanley knows he doesn’t engage with nearly often enough. He’s certain that Bill wouldn’t cheat on him, but he’s honestly unsure that Bill would choose to stay with him in the face of a more exciting option. 

Really, that should mean that his problem boils down to him thinking Bill isn’t in love with him. But things just aren’t that simple, because Bill IS. Stanley has known that since Derry too, had been fighting it just as hard as he’d been fighting his own feelings. Bill, who is in love with love, also happens to be in love with him. And he isn’t sure if that’s a good thing. It sounds good on paper, for the two of them to be in love, but it opens the door for so much more pain. Bill dumping him for a sorority girl would be devastating no matter what, but Bill doing it after _loving_ him makes it so much worse. It would mean that he’d done something wrong, something to make Bill fall out of love with him. Just the thought makes him itchy and nervous.

Even if Bill doesn’t fall in love with some random girl (and, as much as Stan is secure in the fact that Bill isn’t disgusted by the maleness of his body, he knows it WOULD be a girl), there’s still the risk of Beverly. Almost far enough down the line to be a non-issue, but one never far from Stanley’s mind regardless. Because in the end, Bill hadn’t chosen not to be with her. Bill’s potential future with Bev had been taken away by the Clown, ripped from Bill’s hands no matter what he tried to do about it. Bill had seemed to move on since, but Stanley knows that when they return to Derry, there’s a very good chance of all of his old feelings flooding back. Bill’s love for Beverly, his dreams of having his fairy tale ending with his beautiful princess. Stan can’t compete with beauty like hers, can’t compete with grand dreams like the ones in Bill’s head. Every inch of vulnerability Stan shows Bill now will be another yard of pity Bill feels for him when he’s ending it to be with her, and Stan already can’t handle the image of Bill’s apologetic face in his mind. He forces the picture away. 

He knows that’s unlikely, anyhow. That scenario would mean Bill would stay with him for another 22 years, and there’s no way in hell Stanley expects that to happen. No, Bill will likely just get tired of him. Tired of dealing with vanilla sex when he’s being offered better, tired of having to plan things around Stan’s OCD, of Stanley never quite being able to get through an emotional conversation without resorting to his quick sarcasm. _The way Richie always had. And just look at where it got him. Alone somewhere, pretending it’s okay, surrounded by people who don’t know him well enough to question the act. You’re never going to see him again, are you?_ The thought stings, and Stan puts it aside.

He knows what Richie would tell him to do in this situation. He’d tell Stanley to trust Bill, to give him some credit, to _try_. And as much as it hurts to admit, he IS trying. He’s done his best to open up to Bill, to share his feelings more, to allow Bill to see his moments of weakness instead of immediately hiding them. He’s been physically affectionate with Bill both in private and public, even as the incredulous glares of a few of Bill’s new friends made him feel nauseous and tense the entire time. He’d given in to his desire to take Bill to bed every time he’d felt it - maybe not as often as normal people feel that desire, and maybe not for full-on sex, but he’s doing the absolute best he’s capable of. He’d even offered to take care of Bill when he himself wasn’t aroused once, an offer that Bill had staunchly refused, had almost seemed offended by. Stanley wouldn’t ask again.

He’s doing everything he can, pushing the limits of his comfort to try and give Bill more of himself. If it isn’t enough, if _he_ isn’t enough, he’s going to lose the only home he knows. No house would ever feel welcoming to Stanley without Bill there, and just the idea of having to go on functioning with Bill gone is one that Stan doesn’t want to face. Feels too much like **that** summer, like being cold and alone and unsure he’d make it out alive. 

He can’t risk that, no matter what. He vows to try harder, to be more open, to jump in with both feet. All he can do is hope that Bill is interested in doing the same thing.

*

There are probably far more direct ways to go about expressing his feelings than a letter, but the letter is where Stan begins anyway. It isn’t even a letter that he intends to give to Bill, at least not yet. But it’s something Stan needs to do anyway, a loose end he needs to tie up while he’s still able to. Because in all of his time spent thinking about what would take Bill away from him, he hadn’t considered one option.

Bill could Forget him.

Nothing has happened so far to make him think that, of course. Bill seems pretty certain that it won’t happen at all for them since they’ve built so many new memories together, figuring that even if they’d forgotten everything about growing together in Maine, Pennywise would be powerless to taint their memories of Washington. It sounds logical, and Stanley badly wants to believe that they’re untouchable here. But there’s a part of Stan that still worries that he and Bill spending more than a few hours apart will somehow wipe their memories clean of one another. That he’ll admit his love for this man only to forget him completely, to be left with a gaping emptiness inside that he can’t place the reason for and has no means to fix. That Bill will never make it back home to him after that, that they’ll lose one another in the same way that they’re going to lose the others. 

Hence, the letter. The letter Stanley hasn’t written yet, sitting at the library staring at the blank paper while Bill is in his English class. He’s certain that his choice of paper is right, the backside a photocopy of the goldfinch Bill had drawn for him when they were 15, an immediate attempt to get Bill’s attention and emotion on the note, hoping that somewhere deep inside he’d remember the significance of that bird. _Their_ bird. That had been the easy part. 

The difficult part is figuring out what to write. It has to be informative, considering that Bill should be reading it when he’s lost his memory already. But it can’t simply be a laundry list of facts about their life together. It has to explain the emotion between them, the feelings. A solely factual letter would never convince Bill to come home. A solely emotional letter may convince Bill, but wouldn’t tell him where home IS. Blending the two is something that Stan hasn’t quite figured out just yet.

It would be so much easier to just let Bill write his own letter, to list his own reasons to come back and then hide that away in his wallet for when he needs to be reminded. When he’s forgotten where home is and is searching his pockets and wallet for any clues to point him in the right direction. But Stan has studied the Forgetting as well as anyone could’ve, had watched it happen to various people around Derry. If Bill knows that the letter is there before he Forgets, he’ll simply look past it when the time comes for him to need it. This has to be a secret, has to be something that takes Bill by surprise in the moment. It’s the only chance Stan will have of getting him back if the time comes, and he NEEDS to get Bill back.

The other possible options still swirl in his mind, make him unsure. There’s no guarantee that Bill will Forget. He could simply want to break up, see other people, stay friends. And if that happens, there’s a chance of Bill finding the letter before Stanley has a chance to retrieve it. A chance that a Bill who doesn’t love him and is still pretending that they’re capable of going back to being just friends will wind up knowing that Stanley loves him enough to beg him to come home. The thought of feeling that pathetic and exposed is almost enough to convince Stan not to write it at all. He has his pride. If he loses Bill, his pride is _all_ he has.

He has to risk it anyway. If there’s even a chance that Bill could forget, he can’t talk himself out of this. Having Bill in his arms is more important than protecting his pride. Without letting himself think too hard, he starts to write.

_Dear Bill,_

_Please only read this if you’re trying to figure out where you belong..._


	6. Six

“I still thuh-think you should come to the p-party with me tonight.” Bill and Stan are in their dorm on Friday night. Bill stares at his reflection, carding his fingers through his hair, trying to make sure the strands lay perfectly though the combed-over bang is getting a little bit too long for his tastes. Stanley looks up from his textbook, acknowledging that he was listening. “It’ll be fun!”

“We both know that parties are more your thing than mine, Bill. We also both know that Biff only invited me to his party because you begged him.” Bill shakes his head.

“You know h-his name is Kyle, babe. And I think you’d l-like him if you gave him the chance.” Hope is more accurate, if Bill is being honest, but he doesn’t say that. “They’re all really nuh-nice, and it would m-mean a lot to me if you got t-to know each other. Please?” 

“It’s a keg party, Bill. No one’s there getting to know each other, they’re getting to know how many cups of free lukewarm beer they can guzzle before they pass out.” Bill just stares at Stanley, eyes wide and hopeful, asking again without words. Stan sighs, sets his book down. “Fine. Give me 20 minutes to get ready. You might get your hair right by then, who knows?” Bill makes an indignant sound, though his smile is wide and bright as Stan goes to grab some clothes.

“Long hair is in r-right now, Stanley. I just have to figure out how to stuh-style it.” Stanley rolls his eyes and starts to change. Bill makes a bit of a face. “You duh-don’t have to wear the belt. This isn’t that f-formal of a party.” Really, Bill can’t imagine that Stanley owns anything informal enough for a college party. His normal business-casual attire isn’t necessarily embracing the party atmosphere, a little bit too proper and clean. Bill himself loves it, is infinitely charmed by Stanley’s fancy shorts and preppy polos, but he isn’t sure that anyone else at the party will be. All he can really do is try to guide the other boy into something more casual, something that doesn’t make him look like he’d just stepped off of a yacht. “And d-don’t button your shuh-shirt all the w-way.”

“Do you want to pick out my shoes, too?” Stan’s clearly being sarcastic, but Bill goes to pull Stan’s only pair of sneakers out immediately. They’re too clean for the party, but at least they’re more casual than the loafers. “Wow. Is there anything else you’d like me to do? Change my personality so they’ll like me better, perhaps?” Bill immediately goes to Stan, kissing him gently.

“Of course n-not. I juh-just think they’ll be less int-intimidated by you i-if you’re not dressed like you own the building. It’ll be easier to m-make friends.” Stanley rolls his eyes, but in the end wears what he’d been asked. Bill lets out a sigh of relief.

“Fine. I’ll do it for you, Billy.” Bill reaches out a hand to try and muss Stan’s perfectly sculpted curls, but is swatted away immediately. “I’m not going anywhere if you do that. Which would suit me fine, but since you want to go out…” Bill laughs.

“Fair en-enough. Thank you.” Bill can’t help but be excited as Stanley links their fingers and leads Bill out of the room. This is going to be _perfect_.

*

It isn’t perfect. 

It had started out all right, sure. Stanley had hovered close to his side during introductions, and they’d all been polite if nothing else. Polite enough that Bill had allowed himself to stop paying as much attention, letting himself be engrossed in conversation with a few of them, not quite paying the attention he should’ve been to his boyfriend. When he looked back to the group, Stanley wasn’t there. None of the others could tell him exactly when Stan had gone, either, a sea of shrugged shoulders and invitations to play beer pong. As tempting as the offer is it’s more important for him to find Stan, to get him past whatever discomfort he’s feeling at the size of the party and back inside to what Bill is certain will become _their_ group of friends. 

When he finally finds Stanley, he can’t help but be a little insulted. Stan isn’t freaking out about the party’s size because he’s pretty much left it entirely, sitting on a blanket in the backyard playing cards with an attractive blond guy. ‘ _John, or Jeff. Something like that _,’ his mind supplies helpfully. Stan is staring studiously at his cards, lips pursed, but there’s something bordering on amusement in his eyes as the other man talks. Bill immediately hates everything about this. It isn’t that Bill has a specific reason to dislike John or Jeff, but he doesn’t like that the guy had been this quick to swoop in and poach Stan from him. Doesn’t like that Stanley is out here while Bill had been inside, doesn’t like that Stan had snuck off unnoticed the first chance he’d gotten. He walks over.__

__“Can I tuh-talk to you?” Bill hates the slightly whiny urgency in his voice, but it at least gets Stan’s attention. J-Guy looks confused for a moment, as though he thinks Bill may be talking to him, but Stanley immediately sets his cards down on the blanket, eyes shifting to concern._ _

__“Of course.” Stan briefly turns his attention back to JohnJeff, ever the polite young man. “Thank you for the game. I’d enjoy doing it again sometime, preferably not at a fraternity party. But please excuse me.” He holds his hands up for Bill, clearly asking to be helped up. Bill immediately does, a little bit less than proud at the way he crowds into Stanley’s space after, but he still shoots a possessive glare at the other guy, clearly staking his claim on Stanley through the albeit platonic-passing shows of affection he’s allowed. When JeffJohn breaks the eye contact, Bill leads Stan to another quiet space in the yard, isolated though the sounds of the party still float to them over the breeze. Stan’s brows raise inquisitively, and Bill’s lips twist._ _

__“What huh-happened? Did somebody say s-something to you in there? Did you just need some air?” He forces his questioning to stop there, holding back the ‘ _How does everyone you meet look like they just stepped out of an 80’s teen fantasy?_ ’ Stanley shrugs._ _

__“They were nice enough, I guess. They just aren’t my kind of people, and I highly doubt that I’m theirs. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be friends with them. I’m sure they’re great. Just not great for me.” Stan’s words are calm and logical, but they still make Bill feel ill._ _

__“B-but we’ve always had all of the same friends.” The protest sounds juvenile, but Bill can’t stop himself from saying it anyway. Stan squeezes his hand._ _

__“Yeah, the friends we made when we were six and anyone who came up to you and didn’t beat you up was your friend. We know things about ourselves now, things that decide who we fit with and who we don’t. I don’t fit with your people.” Bill is stricken by that. Wonders if this is how it’ll be in the future, Stanley explaining matter-of factly that he and Bill don’t fit together anymore. That he and Bill had only worked out together when Stan had no other options._ _

__“What d-does that mean for us?” He hadn’t meant to ask the question, hadn’t wanted Stanley to think about how compatible they aren’t. Stan’s nose scrunches, fingers squeezing Bill’s tighter._ _

__“It means we have different friends, Bill. We can spend time with them separately, or even together but in less rowdy atmospheres. That’s all it means.” Stanley sounds as certain off this as Bill isn’t. He wonders when he became the one who needed reassurance in their relationship._ _

__“So you’re n-not just going to outgrow me now that you have a bunch of muh-mature friends?” Bill tries to play it off as a joke, but it sounds hollow even to him. Stan’s eyes are gentle with what Bill greatly hopes isn’t pity._ _

__“Of course not. What, are you planning to get bored of me now that you have people to go to parties with?” The question is obviously hypothetical, more of a response to Bill’s own than a true inquiry. Bill’s nose scrunches._ _

__“I get your point. I just… I wuh-wasn’t expecting this. I was so buh-busy thinking about moving across the country and luh-losing the others and…” Bill shrugs a little, hating to admit that he’d overlooked something so important. Stan looks like he understands._ _

__“All of the strange things that no one else had to think about, giving them time to come up with normal thoughts and concerns? Yeah, I know. I spent such a long time worrying about Forgetting that I didn’t even consider how we’d afford food.” Stan chuckles, and Bill can’t help but smile._ _

__“True. And I think it’s nuh-normal for me to be a little j-jealous. You’re my boyfriend.” More than a little jealous, if Bill is being honest. Stan was always the slowest of the group to warm up to new people, so him enjoying someone’s company always seemed more meaningful somehow._ _

__“I am. Which is a good enough reason for you to know there’s nothing to be jealous over, isn’t it?” Bill snorts._ _

__“M-maybe if all of your friends duh-didn’t look like pinup models.” Stan’s lips twist, and Bill quickly tightens his fingers around Stan’s. “Nuh-not that I look at them that way. I don’t. I just… n-noticed.” Stan shakes his head dismissively._ _

__“It’s fine, Bill. I know they’re attractive. I’m just not attracted to them. You _know_ that.” Bill sighs, nodding._ _

__“I do. Buh-but I’m not just jealous over people sexually. I’m jealous of ev-everyone who you want to spuh-spend time with who isn’t me. That you getting close with d-different people will change how close we are.” It’s difficult for Bill to admit - he hates being insecure like this, has always hated admitting to Stanley that he’s jealous over anything. He drops his eyes to their linked hands, his lips quirking down into an agitated frown. Stan’s fingers tighten with his._ _

__“Who we’re friends with can’t change what we mean to each other unless we let it, Billy. You just have to trust me, and I have to trust you.” Bill looks up at Stan, confused._ _

__“Truh-trust me with what?” Stan smiles a little._ _

__“To be my best friend. To be there for me first, even if your fratty friends want you to come to some kegger on a Wednesday night. And not just because we’re dating, or because we’re sleeping together. Because we’re everything. And because, even after meeting new people, we still just… like each other. The way we always have.”_ _

___'I **LOVE** you'_ , Bill’s mind screams. “Can I kuh-kiss you?” He says instead, voice thick with emotion that he’s trying hard to hold back. When Stan nods, Bill leans in and kisses his lips, chaste and sweet, trying to be mindful of Stan’s general comfort level with PDA. After trading a few lingering pecks, Bill feels confident to speak again. “I luh-love that you’re my best friend. And everything else, yuh-you know that. And… just because you’re my b-boyfriend doesn’t mean I forgot that we’re best friends. I never will.” Stan hums softly, pleased._ _

__“Good. Because as much as I love having you as my boyfriend, I would never want to lose that. The best friend is the person I fell for, and at the risk of sounding greedy, I need it all. I need all of you.” On the surface, it isn’t much of a display of emotion. Bill knows better. Stan is always reluctant to ask for what he needs, even moreso when the request is an emotional one. But Stan is giving him this, allowing him to see just a little bit more ol Stanley’s heart. There’s no real way for him to thank Stanley for that without making the other boy uncomfortable, so he says the only thing he can think of._ _

__“A-always.”_ _


	7. Seven

Six months after the move, Bill finally starts to forget.

It’s subtle, at first. So subtle that Stan hardly pays any mind to it. They’re in their dorm room, Stanley sitting in bed with a few typed pages in his lap, reading slowly over them, trying to keep his focus on the words even as the floorboards creak beneath Bill’s pacing feet. When he hears Bill start to chew at his nails, he rolls his eyes.

“Your nails are full of bacteria and ink, Bill. Stop that or I’ll go get some of that gross tasting stuff Eddie used on Rich to make him stop biting his.” Bill stops pacing abruptly, and a chanced look up at him reveals a moment of confusion on his face. It’s gone almost before it fully settles in, Bill’s lips pulling into a grimace.

“Then you sh-should read faster. Settle my worries.” Stanley can tell by Bill’s expression that the pages in his hands aren’t what’s concerning Bill anymore, but he isn’t sure there’s a right way to bring up what they both know just happened. He settles for linking their fingers instead, ignoring how germy and spit-covered Bill’s are as he squeezes.

“Bill…” If there’s a right thing to say in this situation, Stan doesn’t know it. He’s never been particularly good at providing comfort, and he isn’t even sure that comfort is the right thing to give at this moment anyway. They should talk about this. “I really liked it. Your story.” Most of the tension drains from Bill’s shoulders. They both ignore the rest.

“Y-yeah? I was thuh-thinking about submitting it to a puh-publisher.” Stan’s fingers begin to cramp from how tightly Bill is clutching to him. He doesn’t mention it.

“You should.” The silence stretches on for a little bit too long, thick and uncomfortable. “You’ll need a portfolio if you’re going to meet with a publisher. Do you want read me some of your other work again? We can pick together.” Bill’s smile is tired and small, but blessedly real.

“Sounds g-good.” It takes a moment too long for Bill to let go of Stanley’s hand, Stan immediately flexing his fingers to crack his aching knuckles. He organizes the papers of Bill’s newest story on the desk as Bill gets his box of old ones from the spare bed, picking the top one at random and bringing it back to their shared bed. Bill sits first, legs spread wide, looking up at Stan with a need in his eyes that Stan hadn’t seen from him in years. Since the day he’d realized Georgie was really gone. Stan carefully takes the papers from Bill’s hand, sliding to sit in Bill’s lap, his back to Bill’s torso. Bill’s arms immediately wind too tightly around Stan’s ribcage, making his spine arch at an unpleasant angle. Stan can only lean back tighter against Bill’s chest, hoping to ground Bill the way Bill always has for him, hoping to provide the comfort he’d never quite figured out how to verbalize. Stan tilts the papers up for Bill to see, gratified to feel the tension leave Bill’s body as he begins to read.

*

Days later, Bill seems to have forgotten about his brief slip into Forgetting. Stanley hasn’t.

Some of it is worry, of course. He’s never quite been able to figure out what Forgetting will do to their memories of each other, still half-convinced every time Bill walks through the door that the younger man will have forgotten who he is. There’s no way he could ever prepare himself to see that blank look in Bill’s eyes directed at him. 

Beyond that, though? Somewhere deep inside, in an ugly place that he tries not to let out, Stanley is _jealous_. Not that Bill is forgetting the others - Stan loves them all, more than he’d ever expressed to them and likely more than he’d ever love anyone again. He’d never hope to forget them. But Bill had begun to Forget the Clown even before they’d even left Derry. All of the others had, really. It had been so fresh in their minds at first, but the more time had passed, the less they’d remembered. Stan’s insistence upon talking about It had been met with exasperated sighs and vague details - so vague that he wondered if they were really Forgetting, but so exasperated that he was certain they were just forcing themselves not to remember. He still isn’t sure which is true, or possibly a dark blend of both. All he’s really sure of is that it hasn’t happened to him. 

It hasn’t, and he can’t figure out _why_.

He still remembers everyone, every detail, with a clarity that still makes his skin prickle and his stomach churn. Remembers the blood coating Beverly’s bathroom, the _wrongness_ he’d felt about that house. The warped calliope music floating out of the moving scrapbook. The knowledge that even Patrick Hockstetter, the most terrifying person Stanley had ever known, hadn’t been able to survive the Creature. The smell of dank rot as She breathed on his face, the pricks of Her teeth through his skin, Her bony fingers pushing into his shoulders as his body convulsed. Remembered being surrounded by pulsating bright Lights, hundreds of swirling fireflies, before being plunged into the painful blackness once more.

He wonders if the memories have something to do with those Lights, somehow. If, by taking something from him, It had also left a part of Itself behind in him. Had allowed him the ability to see It, to _hear_ It, even as others couldn’t. A power that could be used as a weapon against It, but only if Stanley could hold his own psyche together for three decades after it was given to him. An unlikely task, given how he’s already breaking.

He wishes he could confirm it somehow - Stan hates being left with thoughts and ideas without being able to provide a concrete answer for himself. But Beverly had made it clear that she didn’t want to talk about It with him, hadn’t accepted a call from him since his frantic one just before they’d left Derry. Henry Bowers had seen the Lights too, but the idea of calling Juniper Hills for him didn’t feel right either - If Bowers remembered, he’d either be too broken or too uncooperative to help. 

Calling Mike is still an option - Mike hadn’t left Derry, after all. He’d be more likely to remember these things than anyone else would. But still, something holds Stanley back. Stops his fingers from punching **that** area code into the phone, half-scared that what answers the call won’t be Mike at all. That It will find a way to speak to him no matter how far away he runs. 

*

It takes days for Stanley to finally ask the question that he hasn’t stopped pondering since it happened.

“Bill?” The redhead looks up from his textbook. Stan continues before Bill can speak, before he can lose his nerve. “Does it bother you? That you’re starting to Forget?” Bill’s lips twist as he sets the book down. 

“I d-don’t know.” Bill’s arms wrap around Stan, and Stan allows himself to be pulled to Bill’s chest, needing the touch. “We expected this. I g-guess that helps. Suh-Since we left Derry… I was prepared t-to lose everything but you.” There’s something bittersweet in the words, melancholy paired with acceptance. Stan nuzzles his cheek against Bill’s shoulder. “Y-you’re not forgetting me either, r-right?” 

_I’m not forgetting ANYTHING_ , Stan’s mind answers. “Would I be sitting on your lap right now if I were?” Stan hears his voice say instead, getting a chuckle from Bill.

“I ruh-really hope not. I get jealous enough!” Stan doesn’t join Bill’s laughter. Bill kisses Stan’s shoulder softly. “I know it fuh-feels weird. But we’ll get used t-to it.” Stan knows he should tell Bill everything. That he isn’t forgetting. That the nightmares haven’t stopped, that the scarred skin around his jawline still feels tingly and too tight for his face. But there’s something different in Bill, something Stan hasn’t seen from him in years. Whether he realizes it or not, Bill is relieved. The events of **that** summer are fading out like a bad dream, and the selfish part of Bill welcomes that as strongly as Stanley would. He can’t take that away from Bill now. It would be useless to even try.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” All Stanley can do is force the words out and hope that Bill doesn’t question why.


End file.
